


Family portrait

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Calanthe will be, Ciri is an absolute sweetheart, Crack, Eist is supportive, F/M, Family, Funny, Geralt looks like a sad silktrader, I mean we all know what happens, This is pure crack, also go to sleep on time, betrothal gone wrong, but please just read it, but with a twist, give a queen som slack will ya, it will be fun, just read it, lifeadvice from me to you, or this happens, what is the worst that could happen, witcher crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: A story about love, support and royal hedgehogs. I don’t know what to tell you so I won’t try. Just read it.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Pavetta/Duny
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Family portrait

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what to tell you. Im sorry? You are welcome? This was done mostly between midnight and sunrise. That does things to your brain. Inspired by hedgehogs and shrek.
> 
> All the thank to the amazing, wonderful, and perfect EponineT for doing the Beta read on this absolute madness! I am so grateful that you wanted to do this and enjoy the madness before everybody else!  
> And now it is your turn!  
> Enjoy!

Everything is going to be fine.  
The evening will sort itself out, Calanthe has made careful plans and prepared all the upcoming events with utmost care. Pavetta will marry the nephew of the gallant Sir Eist. Nothing can stand in the way of this, all her plans hang on one simple thing.  
A witcher. This entire betrothal hangs on one witcher, two swords on his back and a frown on his face. She is not worried. His tame bard, Jaskier, sings his praise all over the land. And she is certain this grumpy man will be the solution to her problems.  
Master Geralt of Rivia speaks up upon the subject of elves, a subject she is rather… passionate about. She did arrive clad in their blood after all.  
She decides the witcher will join her at the main table. He is crucial to what is to come. For it all to play out as she wishes.  
She sneaks a glance at Eist. His eyes are already upon her, he smirks and raises his goblet in a small salute. He is a good specimen, this Eist, and Pavettas union into his family is sure to let her see more of him. A queen needs to give herself a treat, every now and then.  
She goes to change from her leather and armour into something more befitting. A crown instead of a helm. Corset instead of a breastplate and plackart. Long skirts instead of… well everything. The blood is washed off, her hair quickly unmuddied. A battle armour of the court, silk instead of iron, words instead of swords.

Upon entering the feast area again, she smirks when Sir Eist has to do a double take upon seeing her.  
She is a glorious sight to behold. She glides (because when in a dress you don’t stride) to her seat at the high table, Master Geralt to her right and her sweet Pavetta at her left.  
They make an interesting contrast together.  
Geralt, his skin scarred, his eyes a fierce shade of yellow, all harsh angles, his judgement falling upon them all.  
Pavetta on the other hand is all smoothness, her blonde curls gathered in a tasteful arrangement befitting a princess, her cheeks rosey and her eyes… her eyes are sad.

Calanthe knows this is a difficult night for them all, most of all for her precious daughter, but life is like that sometimes. Calanthe always thought cold metal was a good solution to problems, but sometimes that metal is rings and not swords. Either way there are things to protect, to slay, to overcome. This is no different and it is time Pavetta learned.

She watches the witchers eyes stray towards the bard hired for the evening. Whenever he does so, his features soften, his jaw unclenching. She watches Pavetta get stiffer and stiffer as the night gets older, her food untouched. She watches Eist watch her, and he truly is a sight for sore eyes.  
Every now and then Mousesack chirps in to add something witty in their conversation. The younglings presenting themselves for the betrothal are puffing up their chests and making a spectacle out of themselves.  
All is well.  
Everything is going to be fine.

Everything is not fine. Not at all.  
All her careful planning, all her cunning schemes are unraveled and discarded in front of her eyes.  
The thorn in her side, the bane to her existence, the ruiner of nice and lovely things, have arrived. He is the walking pincushion of misfortune, a twolegged mistake who she does not want to be here at all.  
And when he declares his right to Pavetta hell breaks loose. All her clever wordings, all her means of keeping her daughter out of harms way is shoved out of the window when the witcher, dressed as a sad silktrader, steps in front of the menace.

Maybe a description is in order by now. The one who came for her daughter is no man. His head is covered in spikes, his eyes are black orbs, his nose more a snout that twitches nervously. He has very tiny round ears on the side of his head. (Calanthe will never admit it to anyone, but they look very soft.) Frankly, an overgrown hedgehog called the Urcheon of Erlenwald, or Emhyr var Emreis, Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd.  
Or, as Pavetta is now screaming, throwing herself into his arms;  
“DUNY!”  
Well. Fuck.  
And now that insolent witcher have taken up arms to defend him. And Mousesack, with a chair. And Eist, with a dagger. And even that fucking bard with his lute.

And finally after Pavettas outburst of magic and a lot of yelling, Calanthe must admit herself defeated.  
Her blessing is bestowed unto her child and the manhedgehog her daughter apparently loves and has been sneaking around with. Children these days.  
Mousesack, ever the romantic, suggest true loves kiss might break the curse. Calanthe studies her daughters face, tinged in pink, a subtle suggestion they might already have tried.  
“All right, lets try.” Pavetta agrees anyway, keeping appearances is important after all. Good girl.

Pavetta leans in and kiss her Duny, a hand soft resting on his fuzzy cheek. It is beyond Calanthe how she doesn’t get pricked, but practice makes perfect she suppose. Somewhere in the background that damned bard started to play softly, his voice bounces around the quiet room and gives the entire thing a very ethereal feel.

When their lips finally meet, they start glowing.

Now, Calanthe knows a good kiss can make you feel like that, but this is… new. The couple get brighter, she could swear she saw sparkles dancing, like little shooting stars, and suddenly their feet lift from the floor. It is hard to see, she can see that awful Master Geralt shield his eyes. Mousesack is staring straight into the light, eyes wide open and mouth ajar.  
He looks a tad worried though.  
That makes Calanthe look up too, and when she does she sees that Pavetta and Duny have parted. Pavetta is glowing brighter and brighter, magic engulfing her until she is barely visible.

With a big poof of smoke, she slowly glides towards the floor, where Duny already awaits, awe and adoration in his eyes. Probably. He catches her glowing form with outstretched arms, and that is when Calanthe notices the first change.  
Her nails, they used to be an even pink, well cared for. They are now pointy. And slightly grey. As the glowing fades, she notices more changes. Pavettas hand, now in Dunys, has a new texture. A soft white and silkylooking fur is now adorning her hand. And her arm, Calanthe realizes, and when Pavettas face gets visible she gasps.

Her sweet little button nose is now a little snout, shiny and a little moist. When she smiles she uncovers her new teeth, small and pointy. The skin crinkles around her now black eyes, framed with the softest golden fuzz.

And Calanthe doesn’t know what to do when she sees the spikes. Pavetta’s beautiful sunshine hair is gone, replaced with fur and spikes and needles and prickly pointy things. Her new ears, small and round and oh so very much a hedgehogs, twitch at the sound and Pavetta turns to look at her mother.

They match. Perfectly.  
Her hand still in his, her dress a rich green to his forest brown tunic.  
Eyes eery black, expressionless.  
”Pavetta…” is all the queen manages. ”Your hair!”  
“Your nose!” the bard exclaims from behind her, and she could just punch him in the nuts. Her darling daughter lifts her hands, turning them to get a good look, then she brings them up to her face. Her mouth a perfect little circle of surprise when she feels the fur and the snout.  
“You’re perfect.” Duny breathes, and Pavetta turns to him again.  
Calanthe hasn't encountered many hedgehogs, so she is not very good at reading their expressions, but she can feel love radiating from the both of them and it is both the most heartwarming and heartbreaking thing she has ever encountered.  
She lost one daughter and gained two hedgehogs.

“You turned our princess into a monster!” one of the nobles shouts into the silence. This noble apparently forgot who she is, because sword still in hand she spins around around with a snarl, ready to give them a taste of who’s fucking court they are in.  
“Who the fuck said that? Who the fuck called my daughter a monster?”

Complete silence. Cowards.  
Just because she stabbed a few of them before, but at least they know their place.  
“Mother, it is fine.” A hand on her shoulder, small and soft.  
“It is not.” Calanthe mutters, but she lowers her sword anyway. Her dress is crazy expensive and it would not do to get blood on it.  
Well. More blood on it.  
Mousesack approaches Pavetta, putting careful hands on her shoulders. Turning her face this way and that, and all Calanthe sees is a snout.  
A snout in profile. Straight ahead. Nostrils. Is it called nostrils on a snout? Is it insensitive to ask? Because that is something she has to take into consideration now.  
“So the curse is… contagious?” the witcher asks.  
“No.” Moussacks says. “Just an expression of their love. Taking true loves form and such.”  
Calanthe swears she hears a lady sighing, and if she thinks hedgehogs are romantic, that woman will have a wobbly marriage.  
“Wither.” Duny addresses Geralt. “You have saved my life. How can I ever repay you?”  
Geralt just shrugs.  
“Surprise me.” He says.  
It takes exactly two seconds for Pavetta to shove Mousesack out of the way, and then she puts a very princess-like vomit on the floor. Tiny and petite.  
No matter how tiny it is, it strikes terror in Calanthes heart.  
“Pavetta? Child, are you ill? Is the curse hurting you?”  
She rushes forwards, searching her hedgehog face for clues. Do hedgehogs sweat? Is it a fever, a poison, a hidden wound, a-  
“It’s just morning sickness, mother.”  
Calanthe pales.  
Meliteles firm tiny tits, Pavetta is 15. And pregnant. With a hedgehog.  
It is all getting a tad too much, she takes a step back and in an instance Sir Eist is at her side.  
“Deep breath, my queen.” He says quietly, so that the gossiping bastards from the court can’t hear.  
“I guess we have our answer,” Duny says carefully. “A surprise you were promised, and a surprise you got.”  
No. No not this fucking bullshit again.

Apparently yes, this fucking bullshit again.  
The master witcher now has a child of surprise, and there is no amount of stabbing Calanthe can do to change this.  
When things have settled down, when all nobles are sent home with strict instructions about how to talk about their princess, Calanthe retreats to her chambers.  
For some reason Eist will not leave her side. To be honest with herself, she appreciates it. A lot. And if he actually follows inside her chambers and shows his support, that is just fine.

In the end there was an alliance with Skellige. Calanthe made sure of it herself by marrying this very supportive man.  
And our good queen learns exactly how soft those little round ears of her daughter are.

There were some speculation about how long a human hedgehog is pregnant. They learn that it is the human way that goes.  
However, the actual birth is something they will never, ever talk about. Calanthe makes sure all the midwives knows how to keep their mouths shut.

The result is a beautiful baby hedgehog, a sweet little girl they name Cirilla. She takes after her mother, her spikes so light they almost look white. Calanthe is all kinds of soft for her grandchild (oh, thats one hell of a title) and will support and protect this child.

When she learned the other children tease her about her spikes one night when she might be a bit deep into the cups, she makes a rash decision.  
With the help of a terrified handmaid she makes some alterations to her appearance. And when she walks down to their breakfast gathering the next morning she is sporting a new haircut.

To be exact, she is hardcore, and therefore she had Eist cutting it with a dagger. And then that poor handmaid had to save what could be saved. With some help from various gentlemen, she now is sporting spikes of her own.  
Her entire hair is, to begin with about three inches long. Grease is helping it stay like they shaped it (and she will never admit to how fucking long it took to do) and she wears it like she would wear a crown, head held high.

Little Ciri, barely 8 years old, gapes at her, her own spikes wild this morning for tossing and turning all night.  
Then she breaks into the biggest (pointiest) grin that outshines the sun itself.  
“Grandma!” She says. Kind of screams, actually, when she stands up her chair bangs to the floor. She runs and all but tackles Calanthe in the biggest hug.  
Calanthe, now well versed in touching spikes without getting pricked, strokes the head of the blond little menace clinging to her waist.  
“Your hair! You have spikes! Will you get a snout like me too?” She breathes, looking up, black round eyes filled with wonder. Yes, Calanthe is confident to say she is fluent in hedgehog now.  
“Sweetling, that is one thing I have yet to figure out. But I will try my absolute hardest to be as beautiful as you.”  
Ciri beams up at her, and the oddly light feeling of her head, the cold of the castle making itself known in ways she never knew before, it was all worth it.

Everything well and truly turned out fine.

(Image cred; The amazing Fink, I don't know your username, but I love you)

**Author's Note:**

> For the people I actually intended this to, I love you all and you shouldn't encourage me to do things like this.  
> Yes you should.  
> Im sorry?  
> No Im not.
> 
> Love you all!


End file.
